


The Boy on the Train

by cornflakes_canvas



Category: Bastille (Band)
Genre: Fate, First Meetings, Heartache, Love at First Sight, M/M, Trains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 01:07:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14905598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cornflakes_canvas/pseuds/cornflakes_canvas
Summary: "I do not believe in a fate that falls on men however they act; but I do believe in a fate that falls on them unless they act."





	The Boy on the Train

**Author's Note:**

> This story has got nothing to do with The Girl on the Train, except that I stole the title.  
> Here's what happens when your brain urges you to write a story based on a song you don't like.  
> Let me know what you think and, as always, thanks for reading ♥

_I do not believe in a fate that falls on men however they act; but I do believe in a fate that falls on them unless they act._

 

_\- Gilbert K. Chesterton -_

 

 

 

Kyle was going to be _so late_.

He had woken up to his cat sounding like she was coughing up her lungs and had vaulted out of bed in a flurry of sheets, nearing a state of panic as he stomped around the flat trying to decide whether or not to take Lenny to the vet – until the cat yawned languidly, made herself comfortable on Kyle's unmade covers and fell asleep, leaving it to her owner to bribe their elderly neighbour into checking on the animal in a few hours. Just to be safe. The nineteen-year-old was _already_ late by the time grouchy Mr Hopkins grudgingly accepted his spare key and, having skipped breakfast, was now running on half an expired cereal bar – literally _running_ because he was six minutes away from the closest bus stop and two minutes away from missing the bus. Fabulous.

He did make it, _miraculously_ , but if Kyle thought that his streak of bad luck had at long last come to an end, he was proven wrong when he promptly received an e-mail alerting him to _severe delays on the Jubilee Line_. It was 8.39 a.m.

 _I'm going to be so fucking late_.

 

Sitting on the bus, the constant rain drumming on the window slowly gnawing away at his nerves, Kyle scrutinised the tiny tube map on his mobile in a last, desperate attempt to ensure his punctuality, his anxiousness rendering him unable to process the information provided. The disheartening conclusion: it was impossible unless he just so happened to stumble upon a parked helicopter. With a groan, Kyle resigned himself to the fact that the first week at his new job was going to end with him being yelled at and switched to a different bus that would take him straight to the jam-packed Waterloo Station from whence the Bakerloo Line would hopefully succeed in safely and swiftly taking him to his desired destination. Fidgeting in his seat and inwardly cursing the _TfL_ network, Kyle worried about his cat, his job and his mental integrity until it was time to hop off the bus and find the correct staircase to sprint down – only to watch the tube pull away from the platform with a long, screeching _fuck you_.

 

_Calm down, Kyle. Just three minutes till the next one._

Three minutes too many.

Pacing up and down restlessly and sighing to himself at two-second intervals, Kyle realised that he had, unfortunately, failed to notify his boss of the foreseeable tardiness, and he continued wringing his hands until the train arrived with a hiss and he speed-walked inside – as if his own sense of urgency would effectually speed up time itself. Perched on the edge of one of the dusty seats, Kyle took out his phone (most anxiously and against his better judgement) to check the time.

8.57 a.m. He was so dead.

 

As the doors closed teasingly slowly and the train set off into the dark tunnels ahead, somebody sat down in the empty seat across from Kyle who intuitively looked up – and was momentarily convinced that his heart was going to stop for good.

Purposely messy hair, blue jumper, blue eyes. Kyle dug his style, he had a soft spot for skinny boys in oversized knitwear. The man seemed to be roughly around Kyle's age, possibly older, and he was handsome – in every sense of the word but most definitely from _Kyle's_ viewpoint. Slender fingers, mesmerising eyes and delicate features, wrapped up in an exceptional aura of fascination, an undefinable _spark_ that captivated Kyle without effort. The one detail though which thoroughly caught the entranced man's attention was that the boy looked like he had been crying – the timid melancholy in his red-rimmed eyes instantly clutched Kyle's pounding heart.

The man glanced around the carriage and blinked consciously, and while his blue eyes scanned the many unfamiliar faces around him, swiftly and guardedly, he caught Kyle staring and instantly looked the other way, the redness on his cheeks deepening ever so slightly.

_This is why people joke about getting restraining orders against you._

It took Kyle a number of minutes to reclaim control of his facial features and stop gawking _blatantly_ , and he resorted to studying a once colourful poster to his left, a boring insurance ad from five years ago, yet he could not stop his gaze from drifting back consistently. The fact that the other also peered at Kyle now and then (albeit making his heartbeat exhilarate each time) did not necessarily mean anything. He might just be investigating whether or not _that pervy teenager_ was still staring at him.

 

Both Kyle and the boy glanced up when the train came to a halt at yet another station and two bearded men carrying handy bongo drums and a time-worn acoustic guitar entered the carriage smiling widely at anyone who would so much as acknowledge their presence before they seated themselves across from one another in the only vacant spots next to Kyle and the older boy. While one of the musicians placed a small, decorated drum between his knees, the other was preoccupied with the tuning of his guitar, almost hitting his neighbour in the face with its neck.

They finally nodded solemnly at each other and started (asynchronously) performing _Wonderwall_ of all things – out of tune as well as offbeat – and Kyle, who was instinctively jokey and eager to cheer up the sad-eyed boy, met his gaze across the carriage and feigned a look of outright torture, his eyes widening comically as he sank further into his seat as if to eliminate even the slightest chance of being associated with the terrible (if passionate) musicians. After a moment of returning Kyle's gaze with incredulity, the boy burst out laughing and immediately clamped a sleeve-clad hand over his mouth. It was a short eruption, sweet and sincere and almost foreign-looking on his tear-wrecked face, and Kyle's stomach was suddenly filled to the brim with tiny butterflies. He continued subtly but insistently nodding his head towards the nearest emergency alarm, and the mock secretive hint made the other bite his lip in an effort to stop giggling. Kyle's little act finally crumbled and he too started laughing, quietly and behind his hand, and for a moment he felt maddeningly warm as he admired the other's face, still hidden behind his sleeve and eyes crinkled in amusement. But before Kyle could even consider dipping his toe into whatever the hell was happening in his head and his heart, the train jerked to a halt and the older boy blinked and flinched before he stood in a rush, staring at Kyle like he wanted to, _needed_ to say something, when an elderly man behind him started expressing his irritation over the delay, and the boy solely smiled shyly and exited the train in a hurry, casting a last wistful glance in Kyle's direction before he vanished in the bustling morning crowd.

_Boom._

Gone.

 

Kyle arrived at his workplace twenty-five minutes late and in a complete daze, and being rather harshly admonished did not dishearten him as much as expected. The deep-seated confusion about having utterly impulsively developed a crush on some random boy on the train largely succeeded in stunning him to the point of listlessness.

He was probably never going to see him again.

The notion crashed into Kyle like a ton of bricks and he was incapable of focusing on the most basic assignments all day as a sweet, yearning panic seeped into his senses like a gradually increasing deluge. And though – of course – Kyle could not have foreseen what hair-raising, heart-stopping impact this stranger would have on him, he came to despise himself for not saying anything, not even a single word that would have left him with more than the lasting but painful memory of a sad smile and a soul-stirring look out of deep blue eyes.

 

He went out with his friends that night (for what better way to smother the conflicting feelings the hectic day's mad occurrences had provoked than getting hammered in the company of his favourite people in the whole world) and told them about _the boy_. The story was met with dreamy sighs and an enthusiastic readiness to get emotionally invested in Kyle's own fateful rendition of every rom-com they had ever seen (and hated). After the collective consumption of numerous cocktails, Kyle's new love interest was dubbed Bakerloo Boy, which was shortened to BB until, drunkenly slurred, he became Bambi. It stuck.

Kyle _gushed_ over Bambi, recited every little detail he could recall of the baffling man, from the freckles littering his face to the sculpted mess on top of his head and the music pins on his blue rucksack, from the loose threads on the collar of his jumper to his white Converse and the woven bracelet adorning his wrist, until his friends, accompanied by sighs and good-natured pats on the back, kissed him goodbye before shoving him into an Uber. Staring out the window, unable to compel his tired eyes to keep pace with the swimming city lights they were flying past, Kyle suddenly remembered how terribly concerned he had been about Lenny that morning and started feeling downright awful. But luckily, after stumbling through the unlit staircase and into his flat, he was welcomed by a very loud kitty who, apart from being miffed at Kyle for keeping her waiting, seemed peachy and even listened without complaints as he went into raptures over the bluest eyes he had ever seen.

 

From that day forth, Kyle adopted an annoying yet (in his opinion) highly justifiable habit of leaping out of bed nearly an hour early every morning in order to take the slowest and least convenient route to work, in the crushing yet impelling hope to see Bambi again. Each day he entered the train feeling giddy and nervous, heart hammering in his chest as he stood in the middle of that same old carriage, one hand clenched around the pole in a white-knuckle grip and eyes darting around searchingly. He probably looked like a lunatic and sparked suspicion in the minds of more than a handful of his fellow travellers but having overcome his initial self-consciousness, Kyle simply couldn't bring himself to care. He would gladly be deemed crazy, be late for work again and again or even lose his underpaid job altogether if he could just go back to that day and bloody _run after him_ instead of being glued to his seat like the biggest idiot, watching motionlessly as the sand he was trying to hold ran through his fingers like water.

 

On some days, Kyle awoke with a swelling feeling in his chest that felt almost like confidence, thought that _today's the day_ , the day he would finally, _finally_ see him again. But most days, he simply felt hopeless.

What on earth did he think he was doing? At the end of the day, he truly did not know the other man and he was beginning to doubt whether his behaviour was in any way reasonable – Bambi could be a drug dealer for all he knew (not that he particularly looked like one but Kyle knew better than to judge a book by its cover). He could be straight, _married_. Some people got married young. Maybe he was a total arsehole, a dog person, a porn star. Not that there was anything wrong with being a porn star, Kyle just dreaded having a conversation that started with him going _“Oh, hold up! I knew I'd seen you somewhere!”_

And though Kyle was certain that, should they ever meet again, he would absolutely adore the boy, Bambi might, pure and simple, _not be interested_ , or (which somehow made the younger man feel so much worse) not remember Kyle at all.

 

He still _so_ longed for a reunion that his mind would occasionally take advantage of his innocent hunger, would coax Kyle, trick him into believing that he had spotted Bambi somewhere amidst the innominate throng, and Kyle would dash forward, not paying attention to the people he was quite rudely squeezing past and fighting his way through the crowd only to realise that, yet again, it was his heart that was leading the way, not his reason.

Kyle felt ashamed. He was investing a whole lot of energy in dreaming up a unique connection with someone who _had a life_. A life of which Kyle had not even seen the splinter of a fragment. And even if he were not overstepping the boundaries of what was deemed appropriate with long, careless strides, what were the chances of him actually running into Bambi again? Even if the other did take the same route regularly – which was in no way guaranteed – Kyle could hardly spend every journey switching back and forth between carriages in order to look for the man (at least not without subsequently being approached by security for showcasing highly suspicious behaviour).

 

And yet, all doubt and discouragement and even a lukewarm intervention by his concerned friends did not stop Kyle from taking the same train every bloody morning. For _weeks_ ; long, uneventful weeks that left him feeling like his mind was slowly starting to soak up and mirror the murky, caging underground station itself, from the glaring lights that highlighted every grimy detail and each broken wall tile to the clammy air that forced itself into his lungs.

Because despite all his dreams and efforts, Kyle did not see Bambi again and he was one futile journey away from throwing in the towel, scuffling home and licking his wounds (by drowning his destructive longing in Tesco tequila), when suddenly, on the way back from work, he saw it – an all too familiar face, right in front of him and separated only by a few pushy bodies. Kyle was so shell-shocked that he could not comprehend what was happening at first, and Bambi didn't see him as he walked towards the exit with hunched shoulders.

He looked sad. Spent. Kyle remembered his timid smile and felt his heart clench inside his chest as he started walking towards him along the busy platform, his movements almost mechanical as he passed young men with briefcases and chattering tourists, barely able to breathe while he focused on nothing but the light denim of Bambi's jacket, feeling frantic and disbelieving and elated all at once when suddenly, through a gap in the mass of warm bodies, he spied another tall, crop-haired and bearded man in an elegant pinstripe suit who smiled tightly as he slung an arm around Bambi's waist and kissed his cheek firmly.

Kyle was convinced that he could hear his stomach drop to the dirty floor with a dull thud and when other passers-by started glancing and tutting at him, he wondered briefly whether they had heard it as well until he realised that he was standing in the middle of the passage as if he were rooted to the spot. He watched Bambi walk away, up the staircase and out of sight, the taller man's arm still wrapped tightly around the boy who looked strangely small next to his towering companion. Kyle's ears were ringing.

Needless to say, he didn't follow.

 

After a night full of tossing and turning, of mentally chastising himself for being so pathetically caught up in a story that was nothing but a bloody fairytale and convincing himself that he deserved the _Creep of the Year_ award, Kyle simply gave up. He had wasted nearly three months of his life chasing a mirage, hoping to meet someone whose life he provably had no knowledge of, and he was done with it. He should have known better.

Feeling like a child who had toppled into a bed of stinging nettles, Kyle frantically tried to _forget_ and go back to the way things had been before. But he couldn't rein in his emotions and felt a deep sadness wash over him every time he sat on the tube, alone, staring at his impeccable trainers. He forced himself to return to old habits that he had neglected over the past months, let himself be swept along to parties that didn't cheer him up and watched films that used to intrigue him, ignored his friends' relieved yet worried questions when he very abruptly stopped talking about Bakerloo Boy and went on a few half-hearted dates that just didn't feel right. As much as Kyle wanted to, he couldn't leave them behind, those blue eyes that had captivated him, nor the smile that didn't quite reach them.

 

Adding another to the collection of failed attempts at getting over the whole ordeal, Kyle yet again found himself at a hazy club, hoping to erase the memory of a gentle face from his mind once and for all. As predicted, it was awful. _He_ felt awful. Kyle was not in the mood for drinking and yet again waking up at an unfamiliar flat in a glitter dress and combat boots, supposedly having devoured three and a half packs of Jammy Dodgers and cooked pasta for twenty strangers after being proposed to by a hunky James Dean lookalike, so he abnegated the treacherous if alluring liquor and disappeared into the night without anyone noticing.

He wandered into the nearest station and, without thinking, headed unwaveringly for the all too familiar Bakerloo Line – out of habit perhaps or following a subconscious wisp of self-pity.

 

So it came that Kyle found himself alone on the train again, dwelling on heartache and annoyed with himself for being a hopelessly romantic idiot, angry with the universe for letting something beautiful flash before his eyes and then locking it up in a golden cage, far out of reach. Kyle crossed his arms and closed his eyes, head tilted back and trying to will himself to stop feeling so awfully hopeless when he sensed somebody sitting down next him. He clenched his teeth.

_Come on mate, you can literally sit anywhere else._

It was almost midnight and they had boarded one of the last trains on the Bakerloo Line – the quiet carriage was nearly empty. But then again, the most astounding creatures came out of hiding to travel around London at night, so of course Kyle would get to share his personal space with somebody who this concept was lost on.

A soft sniffle coming from his neighbour prompted Kyle to blink his eyes open in annoyance and he was about to make a sarcastic comment about how much he loved being intimate with strangers on the tube when his gaze fell upon a colourful bracelet, well-worn and circling a slender wrist, and Kyle didn't know whether to laugh, weep or pass out on the spot when his eyes darted to the face that had followed him in his dreams.

 

The light denim jacket lay discarded in Bambi's lap and he was wearing the blue knit jumper again, his head rested heavily on his palm and he sniffled quietly every now and then. And though the boy looked heartbreakingly lonely, Kyle almost burst out laughing hysterically at the absurdity of it all and seriously entertained the possibility that he had finally lost his last ounce of sanity and was having a feverish hallucination. He stayed still for a moment, staring, struggling to think of anything to say or do, his mind as empty as an abandoned Wild West town. Kyle hesitated, then breathed deeply and swallowed about half a dozen times before he reached out, his hand trembling as he touched Bambi's shoulder. He could hardly believe that he was actually touching him but the boy was _real_ , he was _here_ , right next to him, and his jumper was soft.

“Are you okay?”

 

Bambi raised his head sharply, looking startled and embarrassed, but when he blinked at Kyle, the confusion that clouded his pale features quickly transformed into something different, something extraordinary and soothing and worth the frustration and heartache, and it shone from his eyes like the light at the end of the tunnel they were being carried through: _recognition_. He ran his sleeve over his face and looked into Kyle's eyes, searching for something and seemingly finding it when he smiled timidly.

 

“It's you. Didn't think I'd see you again.”

Kyle returned his smile and they lapsed into a wondering silence until a tinny voice resounded from the small speakers around them, informing the remaining passengers that they were about to reach the last stop. Kyle had missed his own but could not bring himself to care when a sinking feeling of dread came over him as soon as his eyes caught a glimpse of the platform they were approaching. He could not lose him again.

_Do something._

Kyle took a shuddering breath and suddenly had to laugh at himself. They were real. Bambi was real and he was not going to dissolve into haunting nothingness the second they stepped off this cursed train. They existed outside of the confusing underground system that had brought Kyle to the verge of madness – and he was sure as hell not going to let Bambi go again. Not again, not without getting an answer. Kyle rose from the uncomfortable seat and smiled, gesturing towards the open doors and waiting for the other to catch up hesitantly.

Once they had exited the carriage and the train had slowly pulled away, Kyle felt like he could breathe again and he studied the man in front of him – Bambi was even more stunning than the vivid image that Kyle had so wistfully ingrained into his memory. They were standing alone on the utterly deserted platform, between a shuttered kiosk and a closed coffee shop that was illuminated by an eerie light source and Kyle took a deep breath.

“Hi,” he said, voice heavy with emotion, and Bambi smiled at him shyly.

 

“Hi.”

 

“I'm Kyle and I really, _really_ can't stand _Wonderwall_.”

 

Bambi laughed that sweet laugh that had been on Kyle's mind each and every day for the past months and his heart skipped a beat as his entire being was filled up with _warmth_. Their eyes met once more and even though they were alone in a bleak, dimly lit and gruesomely dusty tube station, it was cold and the air was stuffy, although Bambi's face was flushed and tender from crying and even if Kyle felt like he himself was going to burst into tears any second now, he felt perfectly _whole_.

The other boy cleared his throat, still smiling.

“I'm Dan. It's nice to finally meet you, Kyle.”

 

And as the two boys left the quiet, desolate station, walking side by side into the night, smiling and laughing and finally voicing all the questions they wished they had asked the first time they laid eyes on each other, somewhere across the river on a late train departing from Waterloo two men entered a half-empty carriage, carrying painted drums and a battered guitar and smiling knowingly at one another as they started playing an altogether different song.

 


End file.
